Stone Eyes
by Dallen Kelason
Summary: The final thoughts of a Wanderer's journey. I originally entered this into the Advent Children Forums Arts and Literary Competition, managed to snag a first place so I hope it's alright for entertainment purposes.


"_That place…_

_began from the resonance of intersecting points…_

_They are memories replaced by ens and naught and etched into stone._

_Blood, young sprouts, sky—_

_And the one with the ability to control beings created from light…_

_In that world, it is said that if one should wish it…_

_One can bring back the Souls of the Dead…_

_But to trespass upon that land is strictly forbidden…"_

The bridge had been crafted many centuries ago. Of all the wonders in all the worlds, it stood out as the most impressive and awe-inspiring of them all. Crafted from naught but stone and will, it was the only pathway across the rolling land from the citadel looming high above. It's aging and weathered body stretched from the bottom of the deepest crack in the land up into the clouds themselves, the last surviving link between the temple and the city.

Nobody knew how any living being could possibly have created such a thing of beauty. Not only was it breath-taking in its sheer size, its beauty was envied by all who could create. Along its sides cascaded runes and shapes that had long since been forgotten, dancing down the stone and mortar to its roots buried deep in the earth. Whoever had built it had placed their heart and soul into their creation, and some say they could still hear the whispers emanating from the rocks.

It had been many years since people had been allowed across this bridge. Many years since they had even seen it. For it, and the land it led to, was locked away to their kind forever. Gates guarded day and night were made at society's end, were none could cross. Whether it was for the safety of the land or the safety of the people, no one knew.

But if one could walk across that bridge once again, they would see a true beauty in the Forbidden Lands. For whilst the bridge was colossal, there was nothing more astounding than the temple it led to that was shrouded in clouds, lost in the distance from the sight of the people. It stretched even higher than the bridge, and was so old that wildlife roamed freely across its mountainous peaks and weathered balconies. From the top of that temple, it was said you could see to the ends of the world.

However, it was no longer a place for humans.

Long ago, it was said that a creature became trapped within the temple's walls. A creature so powerful it could have torn cliffs asunder, spread the land to the harsh winds and driven the world into a state of destruction and ruin. Its name had long been forgotten, but the legacy that surrounded it had not.

Legend claims a single blade stayed the beast, an Ancient Sword that was the most treasured of all possessions of the people. It alone slew the monstrosity and locked its spirit deep within the walls of the temple, scattering its power into sixteen pieces. It was then that the bridge had been sealed, and the land that had once been a country of peace and prosperity was forgotten.

No man had stepped foot in that land. Until the Wanderer.

"The Shrine of Worship…"

The shaman could not hold back his gasp at the sight of the temple before him, climbing high into the heavens as if attempting to break free of the sky itself. Many years he had lived on this world, but nothing could compare to the mastery of the building set into the Forbidden Lands before him. It occurred to him that he was one of few who would witness this view in his life-time; it was something to be treasured, and so he steadied his horse so as to admire the landscape.

Hundreds of feet below them, a deep valley cut into the earth leaving a jagged scar across the wide plains. Surrounding them were many mountains that kept the area hidden from any who tried to approach it, and they cast an ominous shadow across its depths. Carried on the echoes of the wind, the shaman was certain he could hear the sea away in the distance, too far to be seen.

"Lord Emon?"

The shaman briefly nodded at one of his companions. Six of them had ridden across their country together in pursuit of the Wanderer, for many months and across many leagues. Now they drew close, their goal within sight. Risking another glance at the ground so perilously far below them, Emon took a deep breath and urged his horse onto the brink of the colossal bridge before him.

Once his steed was certain that the stone was stable, it soon found itself trotting along its length as if it were going for a mild walk through a field. It ignored the buffeting winds and howling gales which threatened to blow the aging shaman clean off its back and into the valley below. Knowing that time was of the essence, Emon unwillingly snapped his reins and the creature broke into a gallop with ease. The old man clung desperately to his saddle and bent as low as possible, allowing the horse to finds its own way. He could hear his companions trying to keep up behind him.

It took many minutes to reach the end of the bridge, despite the speed that the men travelled at. The horses were of the best breed, and the swiftest of them all. Yet the bridge stretched onward constantly, until without warning the sun disappeared behind the great temple and they were swallowed in its shadow.

Slowing to a gentle pace, Emon dismounted as his steed continued, no longer worried about the fall. There was no entrance before him, just a wall without any markings. As if in a daze, Emon took a step towards it and stretched out his withered hand. The moment his fingers brushed against the stone, a deep rumbling emerged from the temple and the wall itself began to rise, until a hole the size of a man was crafted before him.

Not allowing the apprehensive thoughts at the back of his mind a moment to make themselves heard, Emon stepped into the temple and was soon fumbling along the side of the wall to make his way. There was no light in the passageway, only the faint outline of another doorway up ahead that he was attempting to head towards.

Stepping out of the tunnel, Emon was about to continue on when he stopped himself hurriedly as he realised that there was no floor before him. He signalled to his men to halt, as he realised he had just come across a gigantic drop. A plummet the size of the temple itself lay below him, straight down to the ground far below. The shaman's heart thumped wildly in his chest at the sight, and he had to take many deep breaths to calm himself.

The room he had entered was cylindrical, with a narrow path wrapping around the walls. His heart in his mouth, Emon edged towards the pathway with his back pressed against the stone for support. He instantly noticed his men waver, their bravery failing at them at the prospect of climbing down such a treacherous stairway, if it could be called that.

The shaman took a deep breath, before stepping away from the wall and marching down the path with all the confidence he could muster. The younger men behind him were soon following, calmed by his will.

The path widened as it approached the ground, but it was still a long time before Emon managed to reach the safety of the floor. He silently thanked his feet for guiding him safely. At the very bottom of the rising shaft was a small pool, a simple circle that was cut into the stone and filled with crystal clear water. The entire room seemed to be built with the pool in mind, the spiralling path designed so as not to block the passageway from the water's surface to the ceiling.

Anticipating the end of their quest, Emon's men paid little attention to the pool, but the old man was entranced by its sparkling ripples. He bent down and tentatively dipped his finger, surprised when he realised the water was warm despite their being any heat source nearby. Though he could not be certain, he could have sworn sparks had appeared where he had touched it.

Noticing he had become distracted, Emon pulled himself up slowly and turned to face the arch that led out of the spiral room, and realised that they had truly, finally come to their destination.

In his path was an archway, and beyond it was a grand opening in the very centre of the temple. The room was bordered by two lines of statues, which seemed to have crumpled and turned to rubble over the centuries. Sunlight poured in through the far end, where sturdy pillars kept the entire weight of the shrine from tumbling down atop it, but there was another light source that shone even more brightly than the sun itself.

Emon stepped forward slowly, unsure of what to expect. As he approached, he realised the light was emanating from a hole in the ceiling. It was impossible to tell where it led, the brightness burning into his retinas and forcing him to look away for fear of becoming blinded. Intrigued instead by the room, he simply stared at all that lay around him, absorbing the ancient walls, the broken statues and the grand structure of the room itself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one figure still standing. A solitary statue that seemed to depict a grand creature, with its arm raised before it as if trying to summon a being towards it. Power radiated from its presence, and he moved away from it unconsciously. He turned to face the sunlight once again, to catch a glimpse of the landscape and perhaps give some commands to his men. But what he saw left him speechless.

Before him, left on a small table at the very end of the room, over-looking the grand plains that spread out before the temple was the body of a girl.

She seemed to be just on the verge of womanhood, a young lady of such beauty that Emon could not tear his eyes away from her face. Long, dark hair danced in the wind across her closed eyes, which did not flutter or even react to the breeze. Her skin was pale white against the yellow of the stone table she lay upon. Unnaturally pale. And she was placed in a position of rest.

Emon sighed as the realisation sunk in. He stood before the girl, as close as he dared, and admired her with a heavy heart. It saddened him greatly to see such potential, such grace grasped by death and taken before its time. The shaman had never known the girl, but he felt an instant sympathy. Behind him, his men were bowing their heads, muttering the prayers of the fallen to guide her on her journey to the spirit land.

As the final whispers of their prayer were finished, they heard a far-off rumble. The instant the sound reached their ears, they all drew whatever weapons they had available, a few swords and a crossbow. But it was simply an echo, coming from a great distance. The men relaxed, but Emon was concerned.

On top of the rumble, he thought he had heard a voice. Not a human voice, but the voice of an animal, a living being. One that was near death.

As he pondered, he began to feel warmth on his back. Confused, he turned around and realised that there was a glow forming on the far side of the room. His men spun around with their weapons braced, unsure of what foe may be approaching them. Emon's eyes widened and he let out a gasp as his keen eyes spotted the source.

"Lord Emon!" Came the call, his men backing away.

The rays of light were erupting from the statue in the corner of the room, bursting out from every crack and hole in its structure and bathing the room in its strange warmth. The light grew in strength until the companions were forced to shield their faces and turn away, and with a crack that resonated like thunder the figure burst into pieces and scattered across the temple floor. As it fell, the light faded and returned to normal.

"No!" Emon cried. When the statue had broken, he had felt the strands of a living creature on the planet disappear in the same precise moment. It was the beast that had cried out to him over the winds, and with its death had come the destruction of the idol.

It had been one of the Colossi, one of the sixteen beasts the size of mountains that had roamed the Forbidden Lands freely. All of them now lay dead.

Emon felt his legs begin to buckle under the shock of his realisation, and he was forced to lean against the altar the girl lay upon to support himself. It seemed impossible, but the only solution that came to him was that the Wanderer himself had slain them. To what end, to what purpose he could not understand; but it was the only logical answer.

The shaman whispered the prayers of courage and raised his hands to his face, horror-stricken. He had not realised what a threat the boy was, and now he understood just what a fool he had become in his old age. The Colossi were supposed to be invincible, impossible to defeat, and for good reason. If they had been slain, then the lives of all his people were in peril.

"Emon, what must be done?" One of his follower's asked, turning to face him with his sword still drawn. The shaman had never felt so ancient. He glanced at the dead girl beside him and lost himself to his thoughts, unable to answer.

Whispers began to drift across the room. Stunned, the men looked all around them, wondering if the fallen statues were addressing them. Emon spun around and faced the source of the sound, the cavernous hole in the ceiling that was still glowing brightly. Amidst the white, he thought he could see a shadow of some kind, a faint outline.

There was a sudden burst, and a whistling as a blade was catapulted through the air and became impaled in the stone. One of the men who had been standing nearby yelled and stumbled backwards, staring in horror at the quivering sword. But none of the others were paying attention to the weapon.

In the centre of the room, unmoving, hardly breathing, was a body. All of the company took a step back at its appearance, unsure of what other sorcery was to be had.

It appeared to be a young boy, or at least, its outline was that of one. But rather than being a living being, it was coated in shadows, a silhouette of a human. With each deep, rattling breath the boy took in, the shadows began to withdraw into himself, as if being sucked into his flesh to hide within his soul.

The appearance of the young man was not comforting. He was as pale as the dead girl, his veins glistening upon his skin in an unnatural manner. His limbs twitched wildly as his strength seemed to return, and protruding from his brow were two horns, a darker red than blood.

It was the Wanderer, the simple boy whose desperation had forced him to the very edges of the world and the Forbidden Lands. Emon was horrified by the sight of him, sickened at the fate that had befallen the young man. He had become a shell, a mere husk. His body shook violently as the power of the shadows within him began to take control, to seize him for its own purpose.

With the final recesses of his strength, the boy raised his arms to his sides and began to pull himself up. Despite the shaking of his limbs and the clear weakness he felt, he managed to reach a standing position, though he was hunched over in pain and was swaying wildly. As his eyes opened to take in the sight before him, Emon was met with two stark white pupils, each one filled with a hidden fire that burned viciously in the boy's skull.

"I don't believe this…" Emon muttered, finding difficulty in forming the words. The more he spoke, the stronger his voice became. "So it was you after all. Have you any idea what you've done?!" His accusation echoed wildly around them, and the Wanderer winced at the sound. It seemed everything was pain to him; the light, hearing, his own breathing. "Not only did you steal the sword and trespass upon this cursed land, but you used the forbidden spell as well…"

He signalled to two of his men, and they warily approached the boy with their weapons braced. Emon found himself drawn to the Wanderer's fierce eyes, not even looking away when the shadows behind the possessed man began to claw their way out of the ground. Darkened figures, lost souls began to force their way to the surface and follow silently behind the boy, advancing slowly on the men. They readied their weapons, but Emon waved his arm and they reluctantly lowered them. The shadows were only a distraction.

The Wanderer coughed violently, choking on the very air itself. Emon's heart swelled briefly with pity, and his eyes were drawn to the floor. "To be reduced to such a sight…" He murmured, raising his hand to his own face and brushing his fingertips against his cheek as if it was the boy's. Letting out a single sigh, he raised his gaze again and fixed it on the Wanderer.

"You were only being used." His voice was cold, emotionless. "Eradicate the source of the evil."

The Wanderer paid no attention to the danger before him. Even as the man raised the crossbow and fixed his sight, all he could feel was the pull in his heart. His being was fixated entirely on the girl on the table, as he desperately forced his legs forward. They seemed to no longer belong to him, as if they were trying to bend, to buckle, to break beneath his own weight.

Every breath he took sent shearing shards down his throat and lungs, every step was an unearthly pain that threatened to tear his legs apart at the knees. But he could not allow it to stop him. He shuffled on, face contorted, trying with all his might to get closer to the girl. To touch her soft hair once more, run his finger down her cheek. His task was complete; she would live again, if he could only get near.

"Look!" Emon said frantically, taking a step away from the approaching Wanderer. "He is possessed by the dead! Hurry up and do it!"

The man before the Wanderer could not see what he was aiming for. All he knew was that he was approaching, slowly but surely. Without any more doubt in his mind, he aimed the crossbow at the demonic boy and fired.

The bolt whistled across the short distance in under a second and impaled the Wanderer in his leg, penetrating the soft flesh and tearing through to the other side. His scream became swallowed in his throat as he pitched forward, the last of his breath leaving him as his chest collided with the stone floor.

His body lay, broken and beaten before the altar. Black blood began to stream from the wound and darken the ground, the same blood that had once poured from the sixteen colossi he had slain mercilessly in order to complete his goal. Now he lay so close, only a few steps away from his beloved; and he could not even raise himself to hit knees. His hatred in these men was growing inside of him, the few fools who stood before him, ignorant in their knowledge as to what the boy had done to get this far. With a single pull of the trigger, he had been defeated.

Emon, recovering quickly from the sight of the possessed Wanderer, stepped slowly down from the altar and approached his body, bending down until they were face to face. He could not see in those white, burning eyes the desperation, the panic, the fury. All that he could perceive was the burning hatred of the dead.

He rose and walked steadily away. Turning to one of his followers, he spoke briefly into his ear. "It is better to put him out of his misery than it is to exist, cursed as he is."

The man nodded and marched solemnly over to the Ancient Sword, the blade which had emerged from the light with the Wanderer. With a great heave, he tugged it out of the ground and turned again to face the boy, who was wreathing on the floor in pain. Taking a position directly above the boy, who had rolled onto his back to face the ceiling, he slowly raised the weapon and held it above the Wanderer's chest.

Silence descended upon the temple. The Wanderer seized his groans of pain, the shadows stopped their approach; even the wind appeared to halt its howling presence. All attention was focused on the tip of the sword, which seemed to be glowing steadily in the light descending from above.

Staring in disbelief, the boy could not tear his eyes away from the face of the man who would become his executioner. He seemed a simple man, fair-haired with a pleasant face behind his emotionless mask. There was a look of pity spread across his features.

All the Wanderer could hear was his own pulse, roaring in his ears and shaking through his body with the fierce determination to keep on beating. It seemed that after his impossible journey, after the mountainous obstacles and many times he had approached the border of Death, he would pass through it at the hands of a young man who could not understand any better.

With a final, rattling breath, he tried to summon the one word that was burning inside of him, the one name that he wished to scream out across the entire land.

"Mo…no…" He whispered, inaudible.

The blade dropped.

"_It is thought hope is an emotion_

_Or perhaps a feeling…_

_Hope is always small -_

_Yet despite its assumed manifestation_

_It brings with it a tide of power…_

_It is thought hope is an emotion_

_Or perhaps a feeling_

_Or maybe hope is a desire -_

_The desire to live on..."_

With a roar that shook the very foundations of the earth, the Wanderer hurled his hands forward and a burst of shadows exploded out of him, hurling his executioner across the room and slamming him against the stone wall. The force was such that the man's back broke instantly, and he slumped to the floor with lifeless eyes. The Ancient Sword clattered harmlessly to his side.

Coiling and twisting like dark tentacles, the shadows pierced the dead man's body and sunk into his flesh, his skin instantly becoming pale and his veins black. A howl began to grow in every ear, as if a thousand beasts surrounded the temple and had cried out in unison. The winds joined in the hellish chorus and wailed harshly through the shrine, becoming a gale that threatened to knock Emon off his feet. Sheltering next to the altar, the shaman shouted above the noise.

"How is this possible?" He screamed, the mask he wore across his brow flapping off and spinning away with the torrents.

Pressed against the floor by the strength of the winds, the Wanderer focused all his strength on raising his head. His eyes no longer burned with the flames of the possessed, but instead looked on in fear as the body of the man was lifted towards the circle of light above them. His companions let out a sob, though they could do nothing to prevent it as they were forced against the broken idols.

As the body rose, its shadow became greater. It stretched over the temple floor, twisting into a malformed being. The creatures, cowering in a corner, suddenly lunged forward and disappeared amidst the black shape, becoming one with it. Soon it appeared to be rising from the ground. Dormin's voice echoed around the room, booming not from the circle of light but from the shadowy creature.

"_Thou sealed Our body into sixteen segments for an eternity in order to seal away Our power…_"

The darkness formed a gigantic arm, one that reached across the entire temple floor and seized Emon in a humongous fist. It lifted him high into the air, as the rest of a body hauled itself from the stone. The beast was crouched low, continuing to grow even as its bowed head reached the ceiling. The only light came from its huge eyes. Everything else was coated in shadow, a living silhouette. Emon seemed frail and helpless in its grip.

"_We, Dormin, have arisen anew._"

The Wanderer shielded his eyes as with one final scream, Emon's life was ended. Dormin simply tightened his grip and snuffed out his existence. In a blind panic, the rest of his men fled towards the door, heading for the winding pathway that would lead them to freedom. But the boy could not leave. With the weight of the Colossi' souls lost, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted forward as fast as his legs could carry him.

His attention on the fleeing men, Dormin merely stepped towards them in a strange shuffling motion that was similar to the dancing shadows it was made from. The Wanderer skidded to a halt as the gigantic hand descended towards him, hurling himself to towards a broken idol and landing painfully against the broken stone. A second later, the ground he had been standing on cracked and crumbled, a small crater left where Dormin had simply placed his palm.

Taking a deep breath, the Wanderer sprung forward again and slid under the arm of the colossus, forcing his legs into the hardest sprint of his life. He covered the distance in no time at all and was soon by the altar, reaching across to Mono and sweeping her body up into his arms. Dormin heard his grunt as he lifted the girl, and he slowly turned his massive head and fixed the lifeless eyes on the boy.

The beast's intention was clear. His two targets were heading in different directions, and he could not pursue them both. But he was still growing, becoming stronger by the second. And they were all still inside the temple.

With a demonic roar, Dormin clenched his hands and began to pound the ceiling, tearing away chunks of stone even larger than the boy. The temple groaned under the pressure, the very foundations beginning to buckle and shudder. Dormin sent flames bursting straight upwards, a blast of white and gold that shot into the sky.

Not even daring to look behind him, the Wanderer wrapped the cloth tightly around Mono's head and sprinted away from the Colossus, heading straight for the pillars beyond the altar. His lungs were screaming for breath, his muscles begging for a rest, yet he threw himself onward and leapt into the sunlight, tumbling through the air and slamming against the grass.

With a final, deafening screech Dormin destroyed the temple that had kept it prisoner for centuries. The shrine that pierced the very sky crumbled, collapsing in upon itself and tumbling towards the land all around it. A boulder crashed into the ground beside the Wanderer, sending chunks of earth and dirt flying. The boy sped forward, buckling under the weight of the girl he carried close to his chest.

Debris fell all around him, raising the ground and showering him in earth. He ducked and weaved through the endless rain of stone, as the shrine behind him descended. The boy knew his legs would give out soon, knew he would run out of air, but he continued to run, always forward.

Another boulder ploughed into the ground just feet away from him, the force knocking him off balance and throwing him aside. He landed on his shoulder, the little breath he had left smacked out of him. Mono fell out of his grasp, her motionless body rolling away from him across the grass. The Wanderer collapsed and ran no more, gasping and unable to move.

Dormin exploded out of the ruins, hurling the stone into the air with little effort. His size had become gargantuan. He was almost up to the very bridge that towered over the land. It seemed he had finally seized growing, but the colossus had the build and strength of a mountain behind it.

The Wanderer lifted his aching body off the ground and gazed upwards, horrified at the scale of the beast. None of the colossi had matched its size, none even had come close. But it was not just his physical body that wrought fear in the boy's soul. Whereas the other giants had emitted a sense of calm, an aura of gentle living, Dormin's very essence sent terror slicing through his heart like a blade.

"_Thou sought to render us asunder_." Dormin rumbled, his voice quiet and steady to contrast with his body. It seemed to be coming from inside the Wanderer's head. "_Thou purged us from thy essence and sought to relinquish thyself from the icy grasp of mortal death_."

Despite the horror he felt in the pit of his stomach, the Wanderer was suddenly enraged. This creature had betrayed him, put him through the deadliest of trials, sent him on a fool's errand and now was taunting him. All along he had been playing him as a fool, only wishing to use his desperation to fulfil his own means. In the face of death itself, the boy raised his head and stared it head on.

"Have you no shame you monstrosity?" He cried out, his voice seemingly tiny and insignificant. He had no idea how Dormin could hear him from so high up, but the colossus tilted his head as if listening. "You tricked me into this quest! You offered her life back, and instead attempted to steal mine! Death could not claim me in the face of the sixteen colossi, and you think that I should die at your ghostly hands? Never!"

A silence settled on the land as his echo faded away. Dormin continued to stare, its empty eyes focused entirely on the Wanderer.

"_Tell us thy name._"

It was a simple request, and the boy was taken aback. He had expected fury, a flurry of fists or the shadows to return. Instead, Dormin seemed curious.

"What does it matter?" He shouted. His voice faltered, no longer fuelled by rage.

"_Thou art courageous, a true testament to humanity. The end has come. Thou hast not revealed thy purpose, ambition, nor name, o Wanderer._"

The boy was lost. Dormin seemed to be admiring him. Momentarily unsure, he turned to see Mono lying on her side on the grass. Without a fear of being struck down, he carefully approached her motionless body and lifted her from the ground. Picking his way through the rubble, he found the altar where she had lain, still intact. He placed her across its surface and brushed aside a strand of hair flitting across her forehead.

It was strange that as he stood helpless before the mightiest creature that he had ever laid eyes upon, he felt no worry, nor a sense of defeat. All he could think about was the girl who lay before him. How lost she was to him, how, without Dormin's help, he could never have her back. But Dormin no longer served his wishes. The colossus stood still before him, poised momentarily on the brink of the inevitable destruction that would follow.

The shaman Emon was dead. The Wanderer doubted if there was any other who could stand before the beast's might. He was truly alone. Agro, his valiant horse, had died in the final fight with a colossus. Even the hope of having Mono return to him was gone, of feeling the warmth of her body against his, the gentle weight of her in his arms, her tender kiss. There was nothing left for him, no place to go. The only future he could see was before him, in the lifeless eyes of Dormin.

"My name is not yours to know." The boy declared. "You may call me Wander. But it shall not be your pleasure to derive my true name."

He was sure that if Dormin's face held any expression, it would have been a frown of frustration. The time of peace was over. "_Thou hast chosen to fight. We perceive it in thy very soul. Thou seekst to destroy this vessel once more. Why?_"

"You wish to destroy this entire world!" Wander yelled at the colossus. He was walking towards the giant, unsure whether he was being drawn forward or was moving of his own accord. "Why do you ask these questions? Why do you want to understand what you want to destroy?"

"_We search for two answers to the same question._"

Wander paused, staring at the stone floor. Thoughts of galloping atop Agro through the plains, of Mono's sparkling eyes began to cloud his mind. The only two things he had loved were truly gone. He was not sure himself why he kept fighting. Why he wanted to destroy Dormin. It was not revenge; he felt did not feel rage. He did not feel. He was empty.

"I wish for it to end." He finally whispered.

Dormin heard him. He pulled himself up to his full height, pondering.

"_Then let it be so._"

Wander's head snapped up as Dormin spoke. A fist rocketed towards the ground, and he turned and fled as it smashed against the debris. The vibrations knocked him off his feet and he rolled into a broken idol. Yelling in pain, the boy allowed himself no time to recover and leapt upright in an instant.

"This is not going to go your way, Dormin!" He screamed. "You shall perish this day!"

There was a glint in the corner of his eye. The Ancient Sword's handle was poking out of pieces of another broken idol nearby. Wander vaulted over a pile of stone and grabbed the hilt, wrenching it with all its might. To his horror it remained firmly caught. He tugged and heaved, straining as hard as he could against the obstruction.

Shadows began to crawl down from Dormin's body. They spread from his form and swallowed the ground around him, washing across the stone and grass, absorbing the colour and life to leave it black and dead. The tide of darkness began to fan towards Wander, circling around him to leave him on a small island of stone. Wherever the shadows went, they destroyed anything at their touch.

Panic began to rise in him as the boy tried to lever the sword out by bracing his legs against the ground, but nothing would work. The shadows were rising slowly, as if they knew he had no means of escape and were taunting him with every inch they gained on him.

A glow emitted from the blade. It started off as just a small spark at the tip that Wander mistook for a reflection from the sun, but the light soon began to coat the sword and it became a rippling blue fire. Without warning it slipped lose from the stone with ease and the boy almost fell over backwards, but he managed to regain his footing and held the blade into the air.

The rays of light shooting out from the tip made the shadows recoil and twist away. Wander breathed a sigh of relief and spun it in a full circle to make sure he was safe, and then leapt towards the looming shape of Dormin.

The foot of the beast alone was twice the size of the Wanderer, but without fear he leapt towards it and stabbed his sword into the dark flesh, using it as a handle to lever him onto the creature's body. Dormin made no sound as his skin was penetrated, but the shadows on the body seemed to recoil from the sword's touch, rippling and creating a hissing sound.

Wander took no joy in the assault, yet he made sure to tear the blade out and sink it in once more. Dormin pulled away this time, raising his leg as if shaken by the wound. Taken aback by the sudden rush of wind buffeting against him as the boy soared upwards, he tumbled backwards and managed to grab a fistful of the shadows, which became tangled in his grasp like hair.

Wander's heart leapt into his throat as Dormin's leg climbed higher and higher, up and out of the temple ruins and high into the sky. His bones rattled dangerously in his arm, and the strength of the wind prevented him from thrusting the sword back into the creature's flesh.

Despite his previous battles, the unnatural strength and sheer magnitude of the colossus had him caught in an icy grip. For a moment he was paralysed, terrified, as the foot reached the peak of its ascent and he dangled in the air, useless. He could see no means forward, the battle looked hopeless. Once again he had been confronted with a creature that could have shattered a mountain.

Maybe this was not meant to be. Battle after battle, each one tasting like ash in his mouth instead of sweet victory. There was a chance they would just keep on going; another would rise after Dormin, and another, until he was defeated.

And then began the descent. Dormin hurled his foot back at the ground, rushing downwards to the perilous landscape below. Wander screamed and let go, the leg plummeting past him, and snatched out again at the thigh of the beast. A jolt shattered through his body and almost dislodged him, had he not clung tightly at the last second to the dark fur.

He wanted to give up. He wanted to drop, to let gravity decide his fate, to stop snatching at air and to fall. How far had the boy come? He had not only climbed mountains, he had slain them. For her.

But Dormin was his only salvation, his only means to an end. What point was there in fighting if he had to kill the very thing which promised him life?

The shadows in Dormin's form began to wrap themselves once again around his form, trying to absorb him into the flesh. Their dark, cool touch was almost a comfort, as if slow beads of icy water were settling on his skin and numbing his pain. Wander almost gave in at that moment, almost surrendered himself to the creature's will, to allow himself to become a demon again.

"No!" He cried out, raising the sword high above his head. The light once again exploded outwards and Dormin reeled away, shielding his bulbous eyes from its gaze. "I did not come this far for your tricks and treachery to destroy me, beast! Your shadows may draw upon my flesh but they cannot reach my heart!"

With the wind battering at his frame, his limbs screaming in protest, Wander pulled himself upright upon the Colossus' leg and roared towards Dormin himself.

"My soul died with her! I fight not for myself, not for the end, not even yours! I fight because I have to, to be worthy of her! I fight for my companion Agro, for my love Mono, and for my soul's freedom!"

The Ancient's Sword in the Wanderer's hand became a blade of pure light itself at his words, so that even he had to cover his eyes. With a great cry he plunged it deep into Dormin's thigh. A scream erupted from the creature that shook the ground, as it stumbled back from the force of the mere boy.

A clawed hand swung towards the Wanderer as Dormin sought to swipe him from his body. It slammed into him and sent him careering through the air, all breath knocked out of his lungs. There was a shuddering crack as Wander's leg snapped, but all he could do was gasp as he rocketed away from the Colossus' palm. Forcing all his energy into his arms, he swung wildly and jammed the blade into Dormin's fingertip, hanging on for dear life as he flew upwards, before tearing the sword away and rolling onto the beast's forearm.

The pain in his leg was unbearable. As soon as he was able to breathe Wander screamed, tears gushing out of his eyes as he stumbled forward and landed face-first amongst the fur. His grip on the blade became so tight that his knuckles were white, and there was a comfort in the handle.

Seconds passed and the agony in his leg seemed to ease, the white-hot pain came under control. The boy could feel warmth passing through his arm, down his chest and into the broken bones. The Ancient's Sword had more than just light to guide him.

He was not ready to stop yet. Wander picked himself up and poised himself against the giant's fore-arm, using the glow from his blade to shield himself from any tricks the shadows might play. The wind roared against him in a gale, rain whipped into his face to blind him. It seemed even nature was forcing him back.

Driving his legs forward, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his bone, the boy sprinted towards the tip of Dormin's arm and leapt, landing with great force on the beast's chest. The colossus shook, spun, roared in despair but Wander clung tight, yelling his denial. Inch by inch he climbed upwards, stabbing the sword into flesh wherever need be, each new wound causing Dormin to stagger and scream.

Dormin's claws were too large to remove himself of the Wanderer. He could not risk attack on his own chest without damaging it further. He swiped again and again with fists the size of boulders, but Wander would raise his blade and the light became a barrier, sending ripples of pain through the colossus. In Dormin's black heart, a new emotion was taking root and growing as the boy drew closer and closer to his goal; fear.

"_Thou art a fool to seek our demise!" _Dormin spoke into the boy's mind. But there was no reply, only the gasps and grunts as Wander continued his treacherous path. His muscles felt held down by lead, but he refused to stop his relentless climb.

The shadows around him, despite their wariness of his blade, began to take shape into the human silhouettes they had resembled in the temple. They swung at the Wanderer as he climbed with their deformed limbs, attempting to bat him away from the beast and down towards his doom. But the boy spared them no thought. He parried and blocked their blows, thrust them aside with light and even once swatted them away with his bare hands.

Wander was approaching Dormin's jugular; he knew that there was no hope he could pierce the great vein, but he was closing in on the shoulder. With a final heave he thrust his blade in and hauled his battered body onto the top of the arm, onto a flat surface. He lay there for a few moments, drawing in air and allowing his own limbs to recover.

The shadows around him once again swirled into a mist and formed the silhouettes, which danced around his body and threatened to strike at him as he lay motionless. Determination once again took hold, and the boy pulled himself to his feet once more. There were a huge cluster of them closing in on him, taking advantage of the surface to strike.

Wander felt his arms twitch, and the sword seemed to strike of its own accord. He lunged forward and impaled a creature through the heart. It disappeared in a burst of light, to be replaced by another one that was lumbering forward. A single slash wrought it in two. There was no scream as it disappeared, no pain. It just vanished.

Dancing from side-to-side, the Wanderer struck again and again, destroying shadow after shadow. Every time he thought he was going to be knocked off Dormin's shoulder and down into the vast drop below, the sword would twitch and parry of its own accord, almost controlling his arm.

The light of the blade became dimmer as more and more shadows appeared, swamping out its glow. Wander swung both weapon and fist, kicking out wildly when they got too close. More than one silhouette tumbled over and fell, to disappear in a puff of smoke as they dropped downwards. Rolling aside to dodge another strike, the boy swung the Ancient's Sword in a circle and sliced clean through the middle of yet more creatures. He tripped them, cleaved them, punched, threw, but more and more kept spawning from the darkness around him.

In frustration, the boy yelled, beheading another without effort. Seizing his blade in both hands, he pulled it backwards and then hurled it through the midst of shadows. It cut a clean path, spinning through the air before landing with a sickening thud in Dormin's neck. The colossus' head twitched sideways and the shadows flickered momentarily before disappearing.

Wander sprinted towards his weapon and wrenched it free of the dark flesh. For a moment, beneath the fur was a vibrant blue glow that pulsed like a heartbeat, before it was once again swathed in darkness. So even the legendary Dormin is mortal, the boy thought with a flash of hope.

But the moment was short-lived, for the colossus took advantage of his distraction and shook wildly. The Wanderer staggered, swayed and finally tipped sideways, rolling down the mass of fur towards Dormin's shoulder blades. He raised the Ancient's Sword wildly and tried to plant it in the flesh, but the beast continued to shake and thrash.

Without warning, Wander's body left the colossus and catapulted through the air. For a few terrifying moments the boy spun wildly, the ground below suddenly a predator awaiting its prey. He was soaring up and away, above Dormin's head and into the sky, as if flying. He was weightless, but fear gripped him in its icy claws.

With a final yell, Wander thrust his blade out hopelessly. To his surprise it made contact and dug itself into solid material, and the boy's arm was almost tugged from its socket as he clung desperately to the handle. Gasping in pain, dangling in the air, the Wanderer realised the Ancient's Sword was embedded in stone. He was a good head above Dormin, hanging precariously from the bridge to the temple.

Wander pulled himself up, clambering onto a small landing lodged into the framework of the bridge. He tended to his arm briefly, only to realise Dormin was watching him silently. The boy froze, gazing into the massive eyes of the beast below him that seemed to be studying him curiously.

A sea of clouds above him rumbled as a steady torrent of rain began to cascade downwards. The storm raged on about the two figures, the only living beings in the Forbidden Land, as they watched one another once again. This time, Wander was above Dormin, his hand shaking as it gripped his sword. Forced to lean against the bridge in case he was blown away by the storm, the boy felt a wave of fatigue and nausea begin to sweep over him. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically.

"_Only we can save her._" Dormin whispered.

The boy froze. A weight seemed to sink onto his shoulders, threatening to pin him down against the stone. He had cast aside his thoughts for Mono's revival in his desperate climb of the colossus' frame. Now, though, the hope that had once burned inside of him was rekindled. Wander took a step back and pushed his whole body against the pillar of the bridge.

The girl was fresh in his mind. Even there, battered by the wind, soaked by the rain, broken by the beast, Wander could still feel her. Her warm breath on his face, her soft smile spreading across her cheeks, the smell of blossom that always remained around her… again they were torturing his senses. He shut his eyes and leant his head against the stone, soaking himself in his thoughts, allowing the storm to wash away his fire.

"She is dead." The boy sobbed, raising a hand to his face. "She cannot live again. I was a fool to think otherwise."

Wander sunk to his knees, dropped the sword onto the stone and brought his clenched fists to his chest. His breath was no longer coming to him. Sorrow was weighing down on him, its darkness crushing him against the bridge. Dormin continued to watch in silence, as the boy allowed a single tear to fall and mingle with the rain on his cheek.

"You are the last chance of us living together again. But there is a world beyond death, yes?"

The Wanderer pulled himself up again, his body shaking. He took up the sword, its cold handle warming to his touch, and he stood tall before the colossus.

"You can give me nothing."

Dormin seemed to reel back as if he had been physically wounded. A blue flame began to dance around where his mouth would be, and he pulled back his head as the fire licked at his lips. Wander in turn raised his blade, the light around its tip glowing brightly as his determination grew inside of him.

For a second they were still.

Then, with a roar that would have destroyed the soul of any normal hero, Dormin forced a torrent of fire towards the boy. In the same instant the Wanderer leapt forward, his blade before him, and plummeted from the bridge down towards the colossus. He cried out as he dropped, fire and air spinning around him. The wind whipped at his body, trying to carry him off into the sky, but he continued to fall towards the beast.

The Ancient's Sword swung true and Wander cleaved a path through the flame. It simply disappeared amidst the rain. The Wanderer raised the blade above his head and remained poised even as he soared towards Dormin, his face set.

For his one companion, for his lost love and for the end, Wander thrust the sword deep into the colossus' eye and screamed, bellowing out his despair and hatred for the beast. As one, Dormin screamed in unison as the light of the sword pierced its shadowy frame and burst outwards, destroying the creature in an explosion that lit up the world for a second.

And then it was over.

The sky above began to clear. Rays of sunlight cast their warm glow across the ruins of the once awe-inspiring temple. The steady rainfall slowed and disappeared, leaving sparkling dew across the remaining grass. No sound could be heard for miles around, not even a bird's song. There was just silence, as the Wanderer began to move.

He was lying face-down in the dirt, the smell of the earth so strong he feared it would burn his senses. Carefully, taking his time, the boy raised himself above the ground and knelt. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair lightly, and he simply closed his eyes and felt the sensation, opening himself to the world around him.

After he had basked in the sunlight, caressed the earth and enjoyed the wind, the Wanderer finally opened his eyes. He froze, and his heart seemed to stop beating as he caught side of a wave of dark hair, drifting in the same breeze. Beside him, so peaceful she seemed to be asleep, Mono lay. But there was no warmth in her cheeks, no steady rhythm as she breathed. She was perfectly captured in a state of rest, but would never awaken.

Wander crawled over to her, caught in a trance. His eyes never left hers as he approached. Carefully, he crouched down beside her.

In that instant, his heart broke. The hope that had stitched it together was gone, the faith in his task vanished. Wander leaned over his lover's body and cried, shedding every tear he could muster, unable to stop himself. He was broken finally, truly. No Colossus or beast could truly tear him apart, only the loss of his Mono. The boy screamed, choked, held the girl close to him, and brushed her hair away from her face. For so long he had held back all his emotion at her death, and now it was flooding out of him.

He remained like that for several minutes, until at last he slumped sideways and lay beside her, empty. He could summon no more tears; his voice was hoarse from sobs. He simply lay and lost himself in his lover's features.

There was no hope left. He understood that. The boy had sacrificed it all when he had slain Dormin. There was no triumph in his task, no sense of success or even relief, for he had destroyed the only creature that could ever bring back his life. Her life. Wander had become a shell, devoid of emotion and desire. All he could have ever wanted was gone from his grasp.

Or was it?

A land of spirits; a land of the dead. Surely, this would be another life?

A spark of hope once again lit up inside the boy. He raised himself from the ground and took one last look at Mono, before turning aside. Atop a mound of earth, only metres away, the Ancient's Sword had become embedded in the ground, blade sunk deep into the dirt. Wander seized the handle and eased it loose without effort. It shone in the sunlight briefly, but the light it had emitted no longer returned.

The boy's hand was no longer shaking. There was no need to be afraid after all. He knew what must be done, and the hope inside of him still burned. He had no chance left in life to be with his beloved.

But maybe in death, they could be together.

Wander returned to his lover's side and stood above her, gazing one last time at her form as it lay stretched out on the grass at rest. Perfection. The boy took a deep breath, before placing himself at her side, lying within inches of her touch. Taking the blade of the sword in his hands, he raised it high into the air and aimed it at his heart.

He remained motionless, the tip awaiting its descent. His own execution. He would have felt remorse, maybe even fear if there had been anything inside left. No, he was empty. There was no more need to live.

Wander shut his eyes, and stabbed.

Blood began to seep from the wound in his chest. Black blood. The Wanderer, despite the pain exploding through his body, was entranced by the substance. It was not his blood. It was Colossi blood.

The cool of the grass on his neck and hair was disappearing, to be replaced by hard stone. The light of the sky was fading, moulding into a ceiling with a single gaping hole above him, glowing unnaturally bright as if the sun itself were shining through it. Silence was all around him, broken only by his choking gasps.

"Lord Emon. It is done."

"No…" The Wanderer whispered. His body shaking wildly, his frame becoming enclosed in the dark shadows pouring from his wound, the boy raised himself from the stone floor.

The temple floor.

Wander clutched the handle of the sword tightly, until his knuckles turned white against his already pale flesh. He was demonic again, possessed once more by Dormin. Behind him stood the same shadows, loping towards their living prey but unable to grasp them through the light. Before him was Emon, alive, with his five companions beside him. Only metres away was the fair-haired man who had held the Ancient Sword over his chest, now covered in Wander's dark blood.

It was all as it had been before Dormin's resurrection. Which meant…

The boy looked beyond the men, beyond the terrified Emon, and he felt his hope blaze anew inside of him. Mono was lying on the altar, just moments before her soul would be restored to her. He had to get to her first; to reach her before these men could destroy all he had worked so hard for.

It only then occurred to him that he was missing something. With a great, shuddering scream he tore the Ancient Sword out of his chest, his own blood spattering across the floor as shadows crawled from the wound, threatening to envelope his body. But he still had time. He had to get to Mono, to help her. He could make it. But what was missing?

His heartbeat.

Wander fell to his knees. He raised a single hand to his chest, unable to believe, unable to even think anymore. Once again he pitched forward, as the shadows pouring from him swallowed him completely. His eyes never left Mono's face.

Wander, the boy who had stolen the Ancient sword, the boy who had slain the colossi, the boy who had given all away for his love to return, died.

Dormin required a vessel that day, to become whole again. He had to take a body that was willing to move on to the next life, to find a warrior that could not only slay the colossi but choose himself to walk through the final gates to death.

The Wanderer would never have given up if he had continued. He would have sought further magic, travelled across every land and sea in order to bring life back to his love. But deep inside the boy he knew that the only way was Dormin; no one else held control over the barriers of life and death.

Hope burned inside him constantly. It was all that kept him from dropping to his knees and allowing his own death. It was the hope inside of him that destroyed the sixteen beasts the size of mountains, not the blade in his hand. The Ancient's Sword emits pure hope, not light. It guides warriors to their goal, but only their hearts could help them succeed. Wander achieved the impossible in his hope to perform something equally as impossible; resurrection.

Dormin could not take a body that still hoped. The shadows stood no chance against the light in Wander's heart, and so Dormin created an illusion. In the boy's mind, all his hopes were faced; the hope of Dormin's death, the hope of saving the land, the hope of saving his beloved. In the end all were accomplished or removed, according to his perception.

Dormin was never killed. Wander saw his death in his mind but it never came to pass. In the illusion, Wander saw the colossus fall, and lost all hope that he could ever continue living. When he chose to draw his own blood, Dormin sank into that wound and took control.

What really came to pass? Yes, Dormin became whole again. Emon and his men were the real saviours; they cast the Ancient's Sword into the pool of magical water inside the temple, and sealed the beast for all eternity within its walls.

And then, as the colossus was trapped once again in its tomb, a most curious event occurred. Mono breathed. Her heart began to beat. Dormin restored life into the girl, as he had once promised Wander. Despite the death of the boy, despite the failure of Dormin, he had held true to his word and brought her back from the lands of the dead.

As for Wander? Yes, the boy died that day. His mortal body was destroyed and lost as the beast possessed him. Yet, as Mono awoke in that forsaken land, stepping cautiously over the cold stone at her feet, gazing in wonder at the destroyed idols lying around here, she heard a cry. In the waters that had sealed Dormin lay a horned child, marked the same as Wander had been when possessed.

Yes, the Wanderer died that day, arguably by his own hand.

Yet he was reborn. But that is a story for another time.


End file.
